


Exposure Compensation

by anamuan



Series: Rarepair Fic/Smut Anonymeme [1]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, NewS (Band)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Penis In Vagina Sex, Quickies, Safer Sex, Semi-Canonical Character, Semi-Public Sex, Sex with a Coworker, Sex with a stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-15
Updated: 2008-03-15
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:52:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamuan/pseuds/anamuan
Summary: Based on Yamapi's first nude An-An photoshoot in 2008. Prompt from the Rarepair Fic/Smut Anonymeme at the time: Props if it involves Yamapi cheating on his girl/boyfriend.





	Exposure Compensation

"You're not very good at this, are you. I thought you were some kind of industry hotshot." Her Japanese comes out a little stilted and with a thick Ukranian accent, but the idea's still there. Yamapi grimaces; he knows he's not at the top of his game today, but it's still a blow to his ego to hear the pretty, mostly naked model he's working with say as much. He still feels awkward standing there in the light robe the staff put out for between takes. She, on the other hand, is standing there examining her nails disdainfully, topless and totally unconcerned. Yamapi shifts uncomfortably. This isn't turning into his best day ever.

She looks up at him then, suddenly, a weird expression that seems to be a combination of a challenge and a sneer on her face, and that stirs something in Yamapi. He wants to show her what he can really do, prove her wrong. She smiles then—smirks really—part triumphant, part pleased and shrugs into her own robe and belts it loosely around her tiny waist. Yamapi is a little grateful that it covers her breasts (full and puckered from the chilly set and all too alluring), and her long, lean legs (which seem to go on forever, a staircase to heaven).

"Yamashita-san. I had a question. Do you have a minute?" She addresses Yamapi, but she's asking the photographer. He doesn't even look up from where he's pouring over prints from earlier and muttering to himself when he waves them off. Judging from his expression, the photographer isn't exactly pleased with the way the shoot is turning out, so Yamapi takes the opportunity to escape, and follows her out into the hallway.

Once they're there, though, Yamapi's not sure he didn't jump out of the pot into the fire. Her tongue was sharp enough surrounded by all the staff; he didn't want to think about what she could possibly have to say that was too harsh for the staff's delicate ears.

"Yamashita-san," she says again, and he's just turning to face her when she's pushing him back, forcing him to take a seat on a box Yamapi hadn't seen, half hidden by another stack of disassembled pieces of set. She's edged in between his knees with her hips, leaning—looming if she weren't so slight—over him with her superior height. She doesn't waste any time in cupping him through the thin material of the robe, rubbing light, maddening circles through the cloth.

"Yamashita-san. I am sure that a professional of your caliber can do better than that." She doesn't phrase it quite right, the Japanese is a little off, but she accompanies her words with more pressure and, as he raises his hands to cup her breasts through the cotton, Yamapi decides that now is not really the time for a grammar lesson.

She leans in then, but Yamapi twists his head, goes for her ear and she gasps lightly into his hair. She wasn't expecting that one, Yamapi thinks to himself smugly, and starts moving down her long neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses all along the skin. She retaliates by snaking a hand in the front of his robe to _really_ grab him, skin on too-hot skin. Yamapi peels the collar of her robe back, pulls one side down off her shoulder, licks a line down across her collarbone and holds her right breast up to suck the nipple into his mouth. He kneads the other in his palm, and she pulls on him harder, so that he hisses air out across wet, sensitive skin.

She pulls back for a moment then—half-exposed breasts heaving in a way that make Yamapi’s hands twitch—and seemingly from nowhere, she produces a condom and tears the foil wrapper open. She rolls the condom down over him easily, hand lingering in all the right places in the process, and then climbs onto his lap. She hovers like that for a moment as Yamapi's hands slide down to hold her waist, knees spread out on either side of his hips, his cock in her hand, positioning it, or herself, or maybe just being a tease because she knows she has him—

And then she pushes down, slowly, ever so slowly, but steadily, never pausing, just constant, tight, heat opening for him. His eyes are locked on the sight of him sliding into her. His fingers dig into her hips, trying to find steadiness in the bones there, while his breath escapes between clenched teeth. When she's finally seated all the way on him, she sucks in a shaky breath or two of her own, and then rolls her hips in a tiny, experimental circle.

She tries another one, a little bigger, and then another, a little bolder, and then Yamapi thrusts up to meet her. She gasps then, and arches her back, and rolls down again harder. And then again, harder, picking up speed as she goes, Yamapi meeting her thrust for thrust.

Yamapi couldn't wrap his mouth around all the foreign syllables in her name, so he settles for telling her how good she feels instead. He's speaking low and fast, and isn't sure she understands the actual words, but she seems to share the sentiment, judging by the way she's clawing desperately across his shoulder blades. And then her whole body tenses, back arching, head thrown back, tightening almost-painfully around him while Yamapi thrusts up two, three, four more frenzied times.

Yamapi gasps out the wrong name when he comes—or the right name, but with the wrong person—but, panting against his shoulder, she doesn't seem to care. Yamapi knows someone who would. If he ever finds out.


End file.
